


Stardust on Our Hands

by ninjamcgarrett



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Wings, Alternate Universe - World War II, DeanCas - Freeform, Destiel - Freeform, M/M, Winged Castiel, Winged Dean Winchester, Wingfic, Wings, World War II, and the two of them fighting in a war together, casdean - Freeform, dean/cas - Freeform, feelings doN'T JUDGE ME, i have a LOT of, i just really love the idea of dean having wings and cas teaching him how to use them
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-26
Updated: 2013-11-27
Packaged: 2018-01-02 17:45:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1059716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninjamcgarrett/pseuds/ninjamcgarrett
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's 1942 and Captain Dean Winchester never thought any of this was possible. He's commanding a top secret platoon known as "The Hunters" with his brother, Lieutenant Sam Winchester, and their adopted uncle, Sergeant Bobby Singer. Their mission? To seek out and destroy experimental R&D Nazi bases. But when a routine mission goes wrong, Dean learns that anything is possible. Presumed dead in a fiery explosion, Dean is held captive by the Nazi cell and experimented on. During his four months in Nazi hell, an angel visits Dean in his cell each night. All Dean can remember are the eyes - and the man's wings. Toward the end of the experimentation, Dean begins to exhibit physical signs of change. Before the Nazis can completely brainwash him and use him, the angel, Castiel, helps Dean escape and return to The Hunters' bunker. Soon, Cas and a changed Dean Winchester have tentatively teamed up to fight the apocalypse. As the natural and supernatural war rages on, Dean must come to terms with his new reality and his new feelings for the angel that saved him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Back To The Start

**Author's Note:**

> I just really wanted WWII!Supernatural, okay? All the snark and badass while kicking Nazi ass. And yes, eventually wings as per the tags.
> 
> Title of the fic from the quote: "There is stardust on your hands and a battlefield in your eyes."

**Somewhere in the Bavarian mountains, late 1942**

If Dean never had to hear the words “what” and “happened” in the same sentence ever again, he was positive he would die a happy man. Honestly, how many times in the span of half an hour could so many people repeat the same two words in a question and make it sound so different? Sammy had been worried when he had first seen Dean walk into the base with the strange man beside him. Kevin had been shocked, while Garth had been his usual curious pain-in-the-ass self. And now Bobby was the one asking the question. Bobby, who he loved like family, was staring at him now, with concern written in the creases of his face, watching Dean’s every move as they settled in Bobby’s office.

“What happened, Dean?” the sergeant asked softly, the first person to use his name since his return to the base half an hour before.

Dean paced, uncomfortable as he always seemed to be these days. It felt as if there was a spot that needed to be scratched between his shoulder blades that he couldn’t quite reach – ever. He rolled his shoulders, trying to ease the tension that was beginning to show.

“Where do you want me to start, Bobby? The part where I busted out, the guy that came back with me, or what they did to me? Take your pick.”

Bobby held up his hands in a placating manner. “Easy, son. This isn’t an interrogation. Just tell me what happened. Start from the beginning.”

“The raid?” Dean asked with a sigh.

When Bobby nodded, Dean dropped down into a chair, leaned forward and put his head in his hands for a moment. He closed his eyes, conjuring up the images that were forever burned into his mind from that mission where everything had changed. His shoulders twitched in reaction to the memories.

Dean looked up at Bobby then, the ghosts of the last four months in his eyes.

“Take a seat,” he said. “This may take a while.”


	2. In The Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The raid is botched. Dean is captured. He cries out for help - and someone very unexpected answers his call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shout out to my beta, Nova_8, for editing, brainstorming, and yelling about feels with me.

**Weißer Stein Summit, outside Köln, June 1942**

Dean hiked his collar against the incessant rain as it continued to pour down around him and his men. Four hours of lying on soaked pine needles, getting covered in rain, waiting for the order to move. The waiting was always the worst part; Dean hated getting wrapped up in his thoughts, hated feeling like he was drowning in racing images and feelings. He preferred keeping his brain occupied – with cleaning weapons, reading intel reports, planning the next op, whatever it took. Sometimes his brain worked too much like a newsreel, looping on repeat, no way to control it. Dean suppressed a grumble; they never should have taken this mission. It had been a nightmare from the beginning.

Traversing two hundred kilometers during the coldest winter on record had been the first warning sign. Another had been that the Nazi squadron seemed to have appeared and set up camp out of nowhere. Three weeks before, the division of Nazis they were now watching had been on the other end of the country. Now, they were holed up in a godforsaken base under the watchful eyes of the mountain named “Weißer Stein” as if they had always been there, complete with a bunker and weekly deliveries from a nearby Nazi supply depot.

Dean looked to his left and right, checking on his men. His platoon had been assembled with one clear mission: to hunt Nazis. Specifically, they were to hunt down the research divisions tucked away throughout Europe in whatever accursed holes Hitler had placed them. Somehow, after they had joined the Army in mid 1941, Dean Winchester and his brother, Sam Winchester, had been assigned to the command of two platoons stationed in the European theatre. As the war wore on and America fully joined the fight, their platoons became like a family. Before the summer was out, General Turner, who was in charge of a new, highly classified operation, had approached Dean and Sam. He convinced them to join his team – a coalition of various nations across the globe with the sole purpose of stopping Hitler from causing a war that would completely outshine The Great War in the most devastating ways possible.

By the time Dean and Sam had arrived at the bunker, they had found it in full swing. Their men had already been transferred there and were hard at work with the two other resident platoons, unpacking supplies, finding bunks for everyone to sleep in. During their first few weeks at the bunker, Sergeant Bobby Singer had brought Dean and Sam up to speed regarding the missions and intel the operation had been tasked with. Sergeant Singer, Turner’s second in command, now worked closely with the Winchesters’ platoons, having learned what kind of missions were better suited for their talents. By February 1942, the Winchesters and the men under their command had become known as “The Hunters”, spoken of in whispers and feared by the German soldiers. At the bunker, the European allies liked to rib the two platoons about their nickname, finding it entertaining but oddly accurate.

Dean and Sam had been taught how to fight, plan missions, and lead a troop of men from an early age by their father, Master Sergeant John Winchester, a veteran of The Great War. Having witnessed firsthand the instability and inherent weaknesses of the political and economical power structure in Europe while fighting in the trenches, John had realized that another war would come – and when it did, his boys would be prepared for it. Their childhood hadn’t been the easiest, but in the still moments of missions, lying in snowdrifts, observing the movements of their next target, Dean and Sam were grateful for everything their father had taught them. John Winchester had been the original hunter, something that only the brothers and their adopted uncle, Sergeant Singer, John’s best friend, had been able to truly understand.

Dean pulled his thoughts away from the past, focusing his eyes on the small base one hundred meters in front of them through the thick treeline. Something was off about this whole setup and Dean was damned if he couldn’t put his finger on it. He stretched his stiff fingers, flexing before returning them to being wrapped securely around the barrel of his M1. Their mission had been to observe for forty-eight hours and then dismantle the base, wiring the concrete structure to blow sky-high. Dean and Specialist Kevin Tran had been at the forefront of the observation, both fluent in German. In all of the chatter they had picked up, both men had heard tell of a shipment due to arrive later that day. None of the soldiers had been overt about what the shipment contained, but Dean and Kevin figured it to be a supply shipment that was coming in two days ahead of schedule. Now, they were all hunkered down on a line, waiting.

A rumble sounded several hundred meters to their left and Dean went rigid; this was the shipment, had to be. All of his men kept their gaze trained on the base as Dean slowly slid out of his position. He was point on this mission; it was his duty to disseminate the plan to the others. Dean crept over to his two sergeants, giving them orders to spread through the platoon, before finding his brother and dropping into a pile of wet pine needles next to him.

“Listen up, Sammy, we are going to observe what is coming out of that shipment. Once the truck is gone, my platoon will wire the base and detonate it. Your platoon is to go now to the road the truck came in on. You’ll rig it with a claymore and when the truck comes back through, blow it to hell.”

“Dean, our orders said nothing about destroying a shipment truck.”

“It’s one truck, not a fleet. Besides, when the supply depot realizes they’re missing a truck, they’ll come looking for it and find it and this base a mess of smoking ruins. That’ll send the message that we aren’t fucking around.”

Sam was silent for a moment, searching his brother’s face, before nodding. “Okay, let’s do it. Be careful, Dean.”

Dean cocked his head and one corner of his mouth quirked up in a smile. “Always, little brother.”

He gripped Sam’s shoulder tight before going back to his position. Dean watched out of the corner of his eye as Sam’s platoon slowly moved out, barely making a sound as they went. A truck with its large cargo bed covered rumbled into view then and his attention snapped back to the view in front of him. Kevin crawled over to him as the German soldiers hopped out of the cab.

“Hey, Cap, I got a bad feeling about this.”

“You have a bad feeling about everything, Kev,” Dean whispered.

The two men watched as the German soldiers pulled the flaps back on the truck and starting shouting orders.

“Aus! Aus! Alle aus!”

Kevin and Dean exchanged a puzzled look, one of them mouthing “everybody out” in a silent question before the sound of feet landing on wet earth hit their ears. Dean’s stomach twisted into a knot as he watched POWs be forced out of the truck bed, hands and feet in chains. All of the men were barefoot, covered in blood and bruises, their eyes dead from a lack of hope. Dean took that last statement back; there was one man, tall with black hair and startling blue eyes that looked almost serene, as if he were at peace with his fate. He didn’t have time to dwell on the strange man though, as the full horror of what they were witnessing was sinking in.

“Oh my God,” Kevin whispered, a green tinge appearing on his face. “Are they – ?”

“Yes,” Dean ground out, feeling a lump rise in his throat as a doctor appeared from the doorway of the bunker, seeming almost gleeful as the prisoners began to file past him. “They’re using live test subjects for their experiments. The Nazis just upgraded to Grade A assholes.”

In the seven months they had been dismantling research and development sections of the German army, the Hunters had yet to come across any groups using human test subjects for their experiments. So far, animals and tissue samples had been the extent of their testing. It seemed that things had changed recently.

Dean’s sergeant, a man named Garth Fitzgerald, crawled over. “Cap, Cap, what do we do? We can’t blow the place with them inside. There are Americans in that group!”

“I know, I know,” Dean grumbled, his brow knit as he thought, reevaluating their plan and plotting contingencies.

“We blow it from the inside,” he said after a moment.

 _“What?”_ Kevin hissed.

“Are you insane?” Garth demanded.

“Shut up and listen to me. We have a full platoon here. No sense putting Sam and his men in danger; there aren’t that many Germans here and we’ve handled more on our own. Once the truck is gone, we take out the two guards and bust the bunker. Teams of two and clear the place, get the POWs out. I’ll go with our demo guy and rig the place. You guys will get everyone the hell out and take out any Germans you see. That clear?”

Both Kevin and Garth nodded before moving out to relay the orders. As Dean crawled past his men and toward the edge of the clearing around the bunker, he wished momentarily for his brother; Sam was the best at stealth that Dean had ever seen. Dean knelt down and tugged the long ponytail of the man on the ground.

“Ash, get up. You’re on the demo team with me.”

“All right,” the other man drawled, a lazy grin on his face as he got up into a crouch and followed Dean.

When they were within ten meters of one of the guards, Dean motioned for Ash to stay put. Scanning the treeline and finding his men in position, Dean crept forward, watching where he placed his feet, careful to not make a sound. His grip was firm on the handle of his KA-Bar. The German guard, completely unaware of his imminent demise, had his back to Dean. Taking that as his cue, Dean lunged, one strong hand wrapping around the guard’s mouth, the other burying the knife deep into the man’s back, severing his spine in one swift slice. He lowered the limp body to the ground and waved his hand for Ash to come forward.

Dean pointed at the building and gave the all-clear signal for the laidback explosives expert to start laying the exterior charges. He crept around the corner and dispatched the second guard without any resistance. Raising his hand to the treeline, where his men waited, invisible and weapons at the ready, Dean gave them the go-ahead sign. As his men rushed out of the trees, making for the large door of the bunker, Dean grinned.

“Now it’s a party.”

Garth and Kevin rushed past him, kicking the door in and clearing the room before moving further into the base. Dean pulled security at the rear, counting off the pairs until the only people that remained outside where himself and Ash. The man with the permanently out-of-regulations ponytail materialized out of the mist at his side, silent and eyes alight with eagerness.

“Party time?” Ash asked quietly when the last team cleared the door.

“Party time,” Dean said, a feral grin appearing.

As they moved forward in tandem, he said, “Once we’re in, you lay the charges, I cover your skinny ass. No matter what, you lay those charges and then get the hell out. Do not dawdle and drool over their tech. Am I clear?”

“Yes, sir,” Ash replied, his hands holding a small set of explosives and a detonator.

They moved like ghosts, silent and fast, cutting through the two outer rooms without meeting any opposition. Upon reaching the hallway and finding a series of doors – and several slumped Germans on the floor already – Ash stopped and knelt near a support wall. Once he had placed the charge, they continued to move, ducking into empty rooms, finding structurally integral points, laying charges, and moving on. Echoes of shots fired sounded in the distance – his men had met a pocket of resistance, probably the guards with the POWs.

As they were about to exit a research room, having laid the last charge, Dean poked his head out the doorway. POWs were rushing past him, making for the exit, renewed hope blazing in their eyes. Those that were too injured to run were being helped along by the others; no one was getting left behind. An alarm sounded then, somewhere below their feet, and ice flooded Dean’s veins. There was a subterranean level, which meant more soldiers. Shit.

He caught a POW by the shoulder and barked.

“Down below. Are there any more of you?”

“No, sir! Those are storage and bunk areas. We’re the last ones out.”

Dean let him go, cursing as Germans began appearing from a doorway that had to be connected to a stairwell. He opened fire, yelling for the last of his men to get out.

“Captain! You need to see this!” Ash called from the lab they had laid the last charge in. “They’re experimenting with alteration! Trying to add – ”

“Not now, Ash! Kinda busy not dying!” Dean replied, taking down the squad that had appeared at the end of the hall.

He ducked back into the room and grabbed Ash by the shoulder, yanking him toward the doorway. Dean caught sight of the room then, skeletal structures of different animals and human set up around the room, drawings, machines hooked up to different animal and human tissues beeping away.

“What the hell?” he blurted out, shoving Ash toward the door.

“Experimentation. Wings, claws, fangs – the works, I think. Bastards,” Ash spat, looking green.

“Doesn’t matter. Get out. Now. I’ll cover you. Blow it once I’m out.”

Ash ran as Dean lunged into the hallway, taking aim at the three soldiers still advancing down the hallway. He spared a glance over his shoulder as Ash exited the bunker and made for the treeline where the rest of their platoon and the freed POWs were waiting. A bullet buried into Dean’s right shoulder and another followed suit, nestling between his ribs on his left side. Blood stained his field uniform as Dean staggered, trying to stay on his feet. His eyes connected with one of the soldiers still standing, one that wore a particularly malicious expression. The German took aim at one of the explosives that lined the corridor. Dean fired off a round in an attempt to stop him, but it was too late. The soldier fired and Dean watched in helpless horror as the explosives detonated, setting off a cacophony of other explosions throughout the base.

All Dean knew was fire, before him, behind him, surrounding him, sucking the air out of his lungs. He knew he was dying, from the bullets and the fire. Dean could hear the screams and the fall of rubble, knew that the end was coming. He closed his eyes, thankful his platoon and his brother were safe as he felt the heat a split second before the flames touched his skin. Licking their deathly tongues along his uniform, Dean’s mouth opened on a scream more terrified and unholy than he had ever thought himself capable of. Death was there, reaching out a hand to him.

Feeling the last bits of life fade from his limbs, Dean thought, _God, save me_.

Red and yellow and orange penetrated behind his eyelids, scorching the very fibers of his being, accompanied by the ever-present pain that seared him to the bone. There was black too, impossibly; incomprehensible, illogical, beautiful black. A shadow. It stood before him. Dean willed his eyes open with his last breath to look on his executioner. A man stood there, his features sharp, his body unharmed by the flames. The man’s expression was what caught Dean’s gaze and held it. Those piercing blue eyes were worried, protective, and – kind? This was no Nazi. With one eye going dark and his last breath rattling out of his lungs, Dean shakily raised a hand, a final desperate plea.

“Help me,” he croaked.

The last thing he remembered before the darkness consumed him was the man leaning down toward him, grasping Dean’s shoulder, and the man’s wings – the silhouette of the most stunning wings Dean had ever seen in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my goodness, thank you all of you for the comments and kudos! I'm having a lot of fun working on this AU and drowning in the feels for it. I hope all of you enjoyed the guest appearances by Garth, Kevin, and Ash; and yes, they will be coming back later in the fic! On a side note, I am not even a little sorry about the allusions to the meat hooks via Dean getting shot. Mostly because I'm already making dying whale noises and whining about the feels from it. Dean, you poor baby.


End file.
